It’s a familiar sound. For the unknowing, it’s that weird gargle-y sound your stomach makes when you’ve had too much Mexican food. For others (probably the others that read this blog), it’s undeniably the hopeful sound of a new message on Grindr.

So you’ve met this dude online. You’ve gone through all the ASL, HWP, NSA, LTR, GTL bullshit that’s involved. (Okay, so maybe not the last one.) And what you’ve landed on here is a digital library of exchanged photos, hey-what’s-ups, and you’ve probably sent each other enough winky faces to shame a middle schooler. What’s next?

I typically bow out when political shenanigans consume the headlines. Not because I don’t have opinions of my own, or that I consider myself insignificant. But after all, I have Facebook and Twitter news feeds filled to the brim with my friends’ thoughts and opinions – all to which they’re entitled. What’s one more talking head going to do, I ask myself. Whether I agree with my social peers or not, they’re certainly entitled to their own opinions. And I’m entitled to ignore or accept them.

There was something distinctive about the way he inhaled his cigarette in the thick, humid night air.

It wasn’t like he was James Dean or anything, but the ember on the tip of his cigarette glowed with the same kind of confidence that was reflected in his eyes as we stood outside this hole-in-wall gay bar. I wasn’t immediately attracted to him, though. He was from Orlando and was so Central-Florida it hurt. Highlighted hair tips. Orange skin. Assorted tribal and Chinese-symbol tattoos, 14 of them I would learn. And an obvious plastic surgery enthusiast. But like I said, there was something irresistible in the way his eyes narrowed at me through the smoke produced by our Marlboro Lights.

We all have them. Awkward, sidelong glances on the bus. Inadvertently reaching for the same head of lettuce at the grocery store. Or sometimes these connections go even deeper. That really close friend you’ve had for years. The one that watched chick flicks with you. Sometimes you snuggle. Sometimes you don’t. But you never cross that line. You know, that line.

So, what do we do with all of these chances we get? Well, we blog about them I guess.